THE POETICAL WORKS OF
THOMAS TRAHERNE
THE POETICAL WORKS OF
THOMAS TRAHERNE
1636?-1674
FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPTS
EDITED BY
BERTRAM DOBELL
WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR
SECOND EDITION
"I give you the end of a golden string,
Only wind it into a ball,
It will lead you in at Heaven's gate
Built in Jerusalem's wall."
William Blake
"Heaven lies about us in our infancy."
William Wordsworth
LONDON
PUBLISHED BY THE EDITOR
77 CHARING CROSS ROAD, W.C.
1906
G. THORN DRURY
My youth was ever constant to one dream,
Though hope failed oft—so hopeless did it seem—
That in the ripeness of my days I might
Something achieve that should the world requite
For my existence; for it was a pain
To think that I should live and live in vain:
And most my thoughts were turned towards the Muse,
Though long she did my earnest prayers refuse,
And left me darkling and despairing; then
By happy chance there came within my ken
A hapless poet, whom—I thank kind fate!—
It was my privilege to help instate
In that proud eminence wherein he shines
Now that no more on earth he sadly pines.
This was a fortune such as I must ever
Be thankful for—yet still 'twas my endeavour,
With what, I hope, was no unworthy zeal,
[vi]My life-work with some other deed to seal,
And lo! when such a dream might well seem vain,
Propitious fate smiled on me once again,
And through the mists of time's close-woven pall
A glint of light on one dim form did fall,
Which, as I gazed more earnestly, became
A living soul, discovered by the flame
Of glowing inspiration which possessed
Even now, as when he lived, the poet's breast.
Did I deceive myself? Could it be true
A new poetic star was in my view,
And shining with a lustre bright and clear,
Where, constellated in the heavenly sphere,
Herbert and Vaughan, Crashaw and Milton shine
With varying brightness, yet alike divine?
I gazed again, but still that star burned on,
And ever with a deeper radiance shone,
Until I knew no Will-o'-th'-Wisp's false light,
No meteor delusive mocked my sight,
But 'twas indeed a fulgent planet which
Henceforth shall with its beams the heavens enrich.
Some vanity, I know, is in this strain,
But men may be with reason sometimes vain: